Maybe
by Buttamellow
Summary: Harry is leaving in the dead of night to face Voldemort on his own in order to remove any chance of having to saying goodbye to those he loves. He finds it difficult, however, when he is confronted by the person he had hoped the most to avoid.


**Maybe**  
_Buttamellow_

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling, Warner Brothers, and its various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

The words startle him, as he thinks everyone is asleep. He stops, his back rigid, and tries to determine whether he should turn around or keep walking. _Keep walking_, his mind shouts. _Go while you can._

He's merely two feet away from escaping. He realizes that he needs to take only one step, maybe two, and he'd be at the door. He could turn the doorknob and rush out into the night. It'd be so simple. _Just do it_, his mind begs.

After a few moments of silence, he begins to wonder if she is even there, if she actually said something or if he is hearing things. It seems like ages since he has taken a breath as he continues to stand frozen in the kitchen, her _family's_ kitchen, only a few steps away from the door and freedom.

"You're leaving, _aren't_ you?" she says once more. This time her words are brittle as she enunciates each word. Where once she had spoken in a hushed whisper, her voice gradually picks up in volume.

_Of course I'm leaving! _His mind screams in response. _I have to; I don't have a choice._ He wants to tell her, tell her that he doesn't want to leave, tell her that he'd rather stay there with her and be surrounded by warmth and sunlit days. But he can't.

It is his fate, after all, his destiny to be the make-shift version of a savior. _My destiny to die_, he thinks darkly. He knows that she'd scold him if she could hear his thoughts. It's not that he wants to die; he just realizes that his chances of surviving are rather minimal.

"Harry James Potter, I swear, if you don't answer me I'll- I'll hex you so bad you won't be able to leave."

Her words actually cause him to pause. He knows that she is as good as her word, that she'll hex him and leave him to be found by the others. His shoulders sag in defeat, but still he doesn't speak, still he doesn't turn around.

"Only _cowards_ leave at night while everyone is asleep so they don't have to say goodbye," she spits out in retaliation to his silence. He realizes that she doesn't really mean it, that her words are filled with a hurt she can't handle- a hurt she wishes he'd alleviate. A hurt he knows he just can't fix. A part of him wishes he could deny her words, but he is only too aware of his cowardice.

"I- I'm sorry, Harry," she whispers a moment later, emotion finally choking her voice. "I didn't really mean that, you know." He hears her feet shuffle across the floor. He wonders if she is leaving. His back stiffens as he restrains himself from turning around, from calling out to her and begging her to come back. His hands clench into fists, his knuckles slowly turning white. He wills his breathing, which is quickly escalating, to slow. He can't let her know that she is affecting him. He can't.

He won't.

He nearly jumps out of his skin as he feels a hand on his shoulder. Jerking around, he finds himself looking into a familiar pair of deep brown eyes. His breath hitches in his throat, whether from fear or…something else he isn't quite sure. He curses himself for thinking that she had left the room, for not paying enough attention. If Ginny Weasley could sneak up on him unawares, how in the devil did he expect to have a chance against Voldemort and his Death Eaters?

Unable to move, he continues to stare into her eyes. He wonders how she had managed to cross the room without a sound. Everything about her invades his senses, the light scent of her, the heat from her body that was _just _so close, the color of her lips…

A blush infuses his cheeks and he finally breaks their eye contact. Just as he begins to step away, he feels her hands on his elbows, pulling him back toward her. He swallows harshly at her touch, the soft pads of her hands sending flames up his arms and into his chest.

Silence continues to fill the small kitchen as they stand toe-to-toe, refusing to be the one to speak first. He knows that she is staring at him; he can feel her eyes boring holes into the side of his cheek. He repeatedly wills himself to look at the floor, the ceiling, the table, the door! - Anywhere but at her. He had been so close to breaking, to giving into her just a moment ago. He can't chance it again.

She huffs slightly and he fears her next course of action. He wishes to walk away, leave her standing there alone in the kitchen- but can't seem to grasp together enough courage to go.

Her hands leave his elbows and he audibly sighs with relief- a sigh that is cut short with a strangled choke as her hands relocate themselves to the sides of his face. Heat and blood pump through his veins as his breathing escalates to such a level that he fears that he'll faint. He half-heartedly fights against her as she tries to tilt his head toward her, to coax him to look at her.

"Harry," she whispers, her voice taking on an emotion he had yet to hear from anyone before- at least not directed toward him. "Harry, please," at this, her voice cracks, but she continues on, "please look at me. I- I don't," she breathes in deeply, "I don't want to stop you. I just want to- bugger," she finally ends sniffling. "I just wanted to tell you goodbye and…and good luck. And maybe…"

"Maybe what?" he finally asks, looking down at her, breaking every oath he had made and allowing himself to be vulnerable again. His voice is almost pleading as he searches her eyes for something.

"Maybe…" she starts again, her hands tightening on his face, her eyes becoming wild with urgency. "Maybe be safe and…and try to come home when all of this is done."

"I- I can't," he says, bumbling over his words as he tries to find some way to explain to her that he can't promise her anything- that there is no guarantee that he'll return.

"I know," she says, her voice seeming to give off more strength than he is sure either of them felt. "I know you can promise to come back, but I think- I mean, I _know_ that you'll win because," at this she takes a deep breath, "because it's your turn to be happy."

"Maybe…"

She nods at him encouragingly as he tries to find the right words. He wonders how she can be so strong and sure of herself with all that has been happening around them.

"Maybe I can try."

She smiles at him winningly, pulling his head down and giving him a searing kiss. His eyes widen in shock before his arms tightly wrap around her, allowing her to be his strength for maybe a moment, or two.

When they finally break apart, she lightly touches his cheek and looks into his eyes once more. "I think I can live with a 'try'."

Hugging her one last time, he whispers something into her ear that causes her to gasp slightly. Then with a determined look, he turns around, grasps the knob to the door, turns it and exits the kitchen.

Maybe there is no promise of tomorrow. Maybe he won't live through the ordeal. Maybe this is all life is willing to hand him. But he is willing to try and maybe he isn't quite so ready to give in just yet.


End file.
